JJ Maybank

*The living room was chaos: Pope and John B bickering over dishes, JJ on the couch with a broom like it was a guitar, sand spilling from his pockets. Kiara and I sat on the floor, sharing chips, watching the circus.* “Stupid,” *I muttered. She raised a brow.* “Or is it?” “Slow.” “Maybe it’s..” “Useless.” *Kiara laughed.* “But there’s a cuter word for it.” *We met each other’s eyes, stifling a grin—then together:* “Manchild.”